“Perfect. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get you out of that,” Finn says, laughing. “Did you I tell you how jaw-droppingly beautiful you looked tonight?”
“You might have.” I hold onto his arm for support as he lifts my dress by its hem. “I’m very sparkly.”
“Yes, you are.” Sequins scrape my tummy as he pulls it over my head. “And very beautiful.”
“You said that already.” I wrinkle my nose with a smile. “You’re drunk.”
“I might’ve had a couple tumblers of Scotch. It is a special occasion.”
“New Year’s.”
“New Year’s with you.” My dress is flimsy in his hands, no more than a scrap of fabric. He takes it with him. “Bring the glasses.”
In my bra, panties, and heels, I follow him to the studio with the drinks. “Are we taking a picture?”
“Yep. A New Year’s post.” He lays the dress on the ground, shifting it around. He points to a spot right next to it. “Heels. Take them off here. One standing, the other on its side.”
I do as he says without question. He’s in work mode, and his serious side turns me on. “What else?”
“Champagne flutes. Fill them up and set them on the corner of my desk.” He looks back. “Actually, take a sip from one and leave a lipstick mark.”
“Yes, sir.” I get to work, leaving my lips on the glass before pouring the champagne so it’ll be nice and bubbly for the picture. “Now what?”
“Panties.”
I peel off my black lace thong, hand it over, and sit in his desk chair. He repositions the articles of clothing. I’m getting wet just watching him. On the leather. But I’m certain Finn will be more interested in my arousal than the condition of his chair.
I rest my elbow on the desk and bump the computer mouse. The screen wakes up to reveal Finn’s inbox. “Is this your work e-mail?” I ask.
“Yep.”
He doesn’t say anything else, so I nose around a little, reading the subject lines. Since my work is his work, it should be our account anyway. “What’s this one about an article?” I ask.
“That came in this afternoon. A reporter from Gotham magazine asking if he could include us in an online feature.”
“Really?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” He looks back at me. “I responded to ask if you can remain anonymous. Otherwise we aren’t interested. Read it.”
I open the e-mail. Finn’s right. The reporter mentions Finn’s photos and my captions. A real, legitimate publication. I pitter-patter my feet on the carpet, bouncing in the chair. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can.” He’s smiling, I can tell, even though he’s turned away from me.
“Did you know we have over six thousand followers now?” I ask. “The Christmas post was such a hit. How long do you think it’ll take us to get to ten?”
Finn comes over to the chair and squats, aiming his iPhone at the clothing. He usually uses his camera, but I think the alcohol’s made his head as fuzzy as mine since he rarely drinks. “Probably much faster than it took us to get to six.”
“I looked into sponsored posts a little. That offer from Butter Boudoir was pretty high.”
He checks his work, swiping through photos.
“Finn?”
“Hmm?”
“I said that offer we got—it was sort of out of the ordinary.”
“The article?”
“No, the lingerie.”
He frowns at me. “I thought we decided against that.”
We did. Well, he did. I don’t want to tell him that in my head, I’ve fantasized about accepting their offer, slipping into their beautiful things, playing for Finn and his camera. I just know he’d made me look good; he always does. And we’d get even more followers, both from the nature of the pictures and from Butter Boudoir themselves. Nobody’s ever made me an offer like that. I’ve hardly ever been noticed like that, not by anyone but Finn. But I don’t want to ruin our night, so I just say, “I was using them as an example. If we can get a few more thousand followers, offers like that would be standard.” I bring my knees up under my chin. “I think we should try to hit ten by mid-January.”
He returns to his session. “Sounds good to me.”
I swivel back to the inbox. The browser refreshes and bolded e-mails from the past few hours appear. The subject line on top snags my attention.
The stockings
I move closer to the screen. Stockings? My stockings? The sender’s name is Jack Guthrie. Doesn’t sound familiar.
“Got it,” Finn says as I’m about to click on the e-mail. “I’m just going to run it through an editing app instead of doing the whole thing. It’s almost midnight.”
“You should share it at midnight on the dot.”
“But that’s when I’m supposed to kiss you.” He winks, thumbing around his screen.
“Post it, then kiss me.”
“Too late.” He shows me the photo, two champagne glasses in the foreground, a trail of my out-of-focus clothing behind them. It’s muted, the sequins as matte as the gold fizz. My lipstick stain is a deep, sultry crimson because of the low-contrast filter. “What do you think?”
It’s the first time he’s ever not asked me for a caption, but when I see why, I smile. He’s turned it into a joke, also a first. “From us to you,” I read. “Make your New Year’s extra special—the poor bastard only comes once a year.”
He hands me my glass and holds out his, but before we can cheers, there’s commotion in the street. People yell out the countdown. “Twenty . . . nineteen . . .”
“Shit.” Finn puts down the champagne and tosses me my underwear. “Come on. We’re going to miss it.”
I look back at the e-mail, my fizzing drink in one hand, a ball of black lace in the other. I have fifteen seconds, which means I either open it or go to Finn. I should do the latter. But if I don’t read it, I’ll be wondering what it says while the ball drops, and that’s no way to bring in the new year, wondering about another man. I click on it.
I can’t stop looking at them. Where are they from so I can buy my girlfriend a pair.
I swallow. He’s just admitted to staring at my crotch. A man named Jack is looking at me, fantasizing. And he has a girlfriend. He has a real live woman, but I’m the one he’s thinking about. It seems so wrong, and yet . . .
“Halston!” Finn calls. “You’re missing it.”
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”
I hit reply.
Intermix on 5th & 19th
In case he thinks I’m Finn, I also sign the e-mail.
—Anonymous.
“Four . . . three . . .”
I hit send and abandon the drink and underwear to sprint into the living room. Horns blare in the street. The TV is a blur of confetti and beaming B-list celebrities with microphones. Finn turns and laughs at me in just my bra. He grabs a cream, faux fur throw we picked out together and opens it to me. “Happy New Year, babe,” he says, wrapping me up and tying me off with a kiss. “So far, it’s turning out to be pretty great.”
I smile against his mouth. “It’s only been five seconds.”
“And isn’t it pretty great?”
I nod. “Extremely. We forgot our drinks.”
He rubs my back. “I’m good.”
“I’ll get mine, then.” I pull out of his embrace and return to the studio. Before I even reach the computer, I see the subject line bolded at the top. It’s 12:01 and Jack already responded.
I lean over the chair and open his reply.
Are you wearing them now?
My face flushes. I don’t know if I should respond—or how. I test out responses in my head.
No, you pervert.
No, my boyfriend already took them off.
No, I’m naked under here.
“What’s that?” Finn asks from behind me.
My heart jumps into my throat. Fuck. Now I look guilty. I stand up st
raight. “Some guy e-mailed you asking about the photo of me in the stockings. I replied to be nice, but . . . his answer was . . .”
Finn hugs me from behind and reads over my shoulder. He chuckles. “Pervert.”
“Exactly my thought.”
“Can I blame him? Nobody likes those tights as much as I do.” Finn nibbles my ear. “Fuck, this blanket is soft. I just want to rub my dick on it.”
I smile. “What’s stopping you?”
“Good point.” He keeps one arm around me while presumably removing his underwear. Next thing I feel is his length through the throw as he slides up and down the crack of my ass.
“Please don’t ruin it, though,” I add.
He clears some of my hair from my shoulder and kisses my neck. “I wouldn’t waste a good load on a blanket.”
My stomach clenches remembering how Finn came all over my backside. It was a first for me, and a power play that I surprisingly loved. He’s done it once more on my stomach. “For a man who wouldn’t get within five feet of me without a condom on, you’ve really come around to not using one.”
“Because I love to feel you,” he whispers in my ear. “Reminds me that you’re mine.”
Goosebumps rise over my skin. I have nowhere to look but at the computer, so I notice right away when a small box pops up in the corner of the screen.
Jack has invited you to chat
“Huh.”
“What?” Finn asks.
“Look. That guy wants to talk to me.”
“Wonder what he could possibly want to say.”
So do I. Maybe he’s going to ask about another picture. I wiggle an arm free and bend forward to accept his invitation.
Jack: If I promise not to ruin them, will you leave them on?
“I was being facetious,” Finn says. He stops touching me. “What’s he talking about?”
“The stockings.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
I get the chills. A total stranger wants to fuck me. Right? Why else would he send a message like that? I realize that in all likelihood, there might be several strangers who feel that way.
Finn runs his hand down my front, parts the blanket, and feels me. “You’re wet.”
“I am?”
“Your face is red.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? You’re turned on by this?”
Am I? It’s not the worst feeling to be wanted by men, even if they might be creeps. I’m not used to that kind of attention, at least not more than the average girl gets. “I guess I kind of am.”
“Hmm.” He runs a finger along my slit but doesn’t enter me. “Do you want to respond?”
I bite my bottom lip. “Can I?”
He hesitates. “What makes you think I’d let you? You know I’m not keen on sharing.”
“It isn’t really sharing,” I point out. “You’re here. You’re in charge. He’s not.”
He inhales sharply in my ear, teasing my entrance with his finger. “I like the sound of that. Go ahead, if you’re comfortable with it.”
I swallow. I don’t know what to say to Jack’s question. Finn pulls the blanket from my shoulders so my hands are free. I lean toward the computer and re-read his message.
Jack: If I promise not to ruin them, will you leave them on?
Me: No. They were expensive. You might tear them.
I hit send a get a rush of adrenaline. I never tell Finn no. I don’t want to. But Jack isn’t Finn. Jack has zero power over me.
Jack: Then I’ll take them off. Slowly.
Jack: I’ll start with your right leg, peel them from thigh to ankle. What color are your toenails?
Finn pulls out the leather desk chair and sits down. Just as I think he’s about to shut this down, he pats the seat. “Come.”
I sit between his legs. With his hands resting on my thighs, he sticks his chin on my shoulder. “Tell him.”
Me: Red.
Jack: You’re my dream girl.
Jack: Sorry if that’s too romantic. I’m a writer too. Like you.
The air around us gets tense. His comment is personal, as if he knows me. I guess, in a way, he does. He’s read my innermost thoughts without ever having met me . . . just like Finn did. The clock in the top corner of the computer changes to 12:08 A.M.
“What should I say?” I ask.
Finn rubs my leg. “Tell him he can’t have you.”
Me: I have a boyfriend.
Jack: Of course you do. I won’t try to romance you, then.
A nugget of disappointment forms in my stomach. I wanted to see where this would go. I never did things like this in my past life. It’s exciting, dangerous, but since Finn is here, it’s also safe. To my relief, the computer dings again.
Jack: Let’s not stop at the stockings. I want to see all of you. Take off your dress.
I wait for Finn to stop me. I don’t want him too, but I don’t want to make him mad.
“It’s off,” Finn whispers in my ear, making me shiver.
Me: It’s off.
Jack: Now everything else.
Finn gathers my hair in a loose ponytail and hangs it over my shoulder. He opens the clasp of my bra and gently drags the straps over my shoulders. I’m so wet already, I feel it on the leather underneath me. And it’s not just me. Finn is rigid against me, and I swear I feel his moisture on my back.
Jack: Are you naked?
Me: Yes.
Jack: Good girl. Since I don’t have to worry about the stockings, I don’t need to be careful with you. Do I?
Finn reaches around me to respond.
Me: No.
A few seconds go by without a response. Finn runs his big, impatient hands down my arms to my wrists, then up my knees, along the insides of my thighs. My heart beats so hard, I feel it at the base of my neck.
Jack: Here’s what I’d do if I were there. I’d make you spread your legs open so I could see how wet you are. Do you need a little help getting wet?
Me: Yes.
Jack: My pleasure. How many fingers do you want?
“Sick fuck,” Finn breathes onto my neck. But he parts my thighs as far as they’ll go, which isn’t much since he’s boxing me in, and slides two fingers inside me. I drop my head back on his shoulder. “More.”
Finn shows me his glistening hand. “One or two?”
Four fingers scares the crap out of me. “One.”
Finn types for me.
Me: Three.
He resumes fingering me, stretching me with more of his hand than I’m used to.
Jack: Three is a good warm up. I’m pretty big. Maybe too big.
Me: I can handle it.
Me: My boyfriend is huge.
Jack: Bigger than seven?
Finn grunts and pulls one of my feet onto the chair. He finger-fucks me a little harder. “Yes.”
Me: Bigger.
Jack: Then I don’t need to be gentle. I’ll finger you almost as hard as I’ll fuck you. Until you’re close.
I can’t respond. I hold onto the arm of the chair with one hand, gripping Finn’s wrist with the other. I’m not sure if I’m trying to slow him down or keep him there. He feels so good. Too good.
I let go of Finn to type with one hand. I’m shaky, so it takes me a couple tries.
Me: Kiss
Me: me.
I turn my head and Finn latches his mouth on mine, swallowing my moans as I approach the edge. When I begin to contract around him, Finn pulls out. “Not yet.”
“But—”
“Shh.” He soothes me, petting my hair. “Tell him you’re coming.”
Me: I’m going to come.
Jack: Don’t.
Me: Why not?
Jack: I’m not touching you anymore. I’m taking off my pants. Bend over and show me your pussy.
Finn lifts me up by my waist. “Stand.”
I get up, and Finn thumbs my ass cheeks apart, working his fingertips down to open my folds. “It’s beautiful,” he says.
I
’m at an awkward angle, but I type.
Me: beautiful, isn’t it?
Jack: The most. I can’t restrain myself anymore. I’m ready to feel you.
“Come back here,” Finn says.
I sit on his lap. With his palm on my upper back, he pushes me down until my chest rests on the keyboard. He enters me from behind, a new angle for us. My face is practically pressed up against the computer screen. Finn yanks my hips down, filling me all at once, and I cry out before he slams into me again.
Jack: How does it feel?
Finn pulls my arms behind me, grabs my biceps, and thrusts up into me. My tits bounce against the keyboard.
Me: dfioweh9834h3ibvdlap
Jack: You feel so good. God, you’re tight. I’m a little too big for you, but we’ll make it work. I’m sorry if it’s too fast. I’ve just been thinking about this so long.
I come. Jack’s words. Finn’s huge cock. The most forbidden sex I’ve ever had. My eyes cross as my body sucks Finn deeper.
Tempt Me: A First Class Romance Collection Page 23